Leipzig hasn't had the happiest of times since German reunification, the heavy
industry which was the main employer having been greatly reduced in size. After
40 years of perpetual labour shortages, mass unemployment was an unpleasant and
unexpected phenomenon.

Things haven't developed as hoped since reunification and economic uncertainty has
left its mark on the city.

Neglected
by the DDR regime, which put all its money and effort into Berlin, Leipzig's turn-of-the-century
tenements had been quietly crumbling away for decades. Now something is being done
to improve the lamentable housing the city has inherited, but it hasn't necessarily
helped the ordinary citizen. The old buildings are either being renovated for the
'luxury' market, or demolished and replaced by new luxury flats. As a consequence
some areas are full of very classy looking buildings, but walk around at night and
you'll notice scarcely a window is illuminated. The rents are so high that very few
can afford them and many of the flats lie empty. In contrast, the prefabricated concrete
suburbs built in the 70's and 80's are full to bursting.

The poor economic climate has seen the young moving away in search of work in large
numbers. Faced with a reduction in central government money if the population falls
below half a million, the city has been expanding its boundaries and incorporating
neigbouring settlements with gusto.

The city centre, which like all large German cities suffered extensive war-damage,
has a selection of crappy 60's buildings, but isn't that the same everywhere? There
are a few survivors from before the war, most notably a fine Rathuas (town hall
- see photo above) on the main square. No doubt the thrusting new free-market economy
will generously endow the city with some post-modernist monstrosities, sorry, masterpieces
(the large hole opposite the town hall looks a likely location for one).

There can be no denying that the town centre is far better supplied with
the basic amenities a visitor requires - shops, pubs and restaurants - than
it was in the past. I can well remember on my first visit to the city in
the mid-1980's having trouble finding anywhere to drink a beer. The situation
is now a mirror image of the communist days: too many pubs chasing too few
customers.

Leipzig
Beer

In
the days when it was East Germany's second city, Leipzig was a pretty dismal
place to attempt a pub crawl. The city centre had very few places to drink
and you had to reckon on queuing up for a while before getting a chance
to quench your thirst. The staff could have some weird ideas about what
was acceptable behaviour. I fondly recall being told to stop reading a book
by one waitress. The situation has improved since, but don't expect a pub
on every corner.

The former DDR is now experiencing a reaction against western products and local beer,
which for a while threatened to be replaced, has made a strong comeback. Of course,
most of the breweries are now owned by western firms, but that doesn't seem to matter.
There are two local breweries, Reudnitz
(owned by Deutsche Brau Holding) and the small family firm Ernst
Bauer. Irritatingly, the beers from these two breweries are almost totally
absent from Leipzig's bars, where Krostitzer
(part of the Radeberger group,
as are Schöfferhofer wheat beers) products dominate. The city is also home to three
brewpubs.

Leipziger Bierbeurs
This is an annual beer festival held in the grounds of the Völkerslachtdenkmal. On
offer are around 500 beers from 60 or so countries. There are also various bits of
beer memorabilia for sale. The 2002 edition is scheduled for the 12th - 14th July.

Leipziger
Gose

Gose: the Beer

The
one really interesting beer, though hard to find in the city, does bear its name:
Leipziger Gose. One of the world's most obscure beer styles, it's
an isolated remainder of north Germany's pre-lager traditions. About the only similar
beer still brewed in Germany is Berliner Weisse, though Gose seems
to have at least as much in common with sour Belgian wheat beers.

It's a pale, top-fermenting wheat beer, flavoured with coriander and salt.
There is a hefty lactic acid content and was probably once spontaneously-fermented.
A description in 1740 stated "Die Gose stellt sich selber ohne Zutuung Hefe
oder Gest" ("Gose ferments itself without the addition of yeast"). I've
always suspected some sort of link with the gueuze of Brussels, though any
Belgian to whom I've ever mentioned my theory has reacted with, at best,
extreme scepticism. But it's interesting that a source from 1927 says the
following: "Gose is a Leipzig speciality. It is similar to Berliner
Weiße, but sourer and not to everyone's taste. (Pour the bottle slowly.)"
Now, Berliner Weiße can be mouth-puckeringly sour and most modern
drinkers can't stomach it straight. I think that gives you an idea of just
how sour Gose must have been.

The precise method of brewing Gose was a matter of great secerecy in the 18th and
19th centuries. The beer's popularity (and the premium price that it commanded) made
it an attractive proposition for any brewery. Naturally, those already in the business
of making it weren't too keen on their rivals getting in on the act. The tricky part
was getting the addition of the lactic acid bacteria right. Sometime during the boil,
the precise moment was of great importance, a powder was added to the wort (according
to a source of 1872).

Another important characteristic of Gose that makes it very different from other German
beer of the 19th century is the method of conditioning. There was no long period of
lagering at the brewery. Gose was delivered, still fermenting quite vigourously, in
barrels to the Schänke. It was stored in the cellar with the tap bung closed
but the shive hole left open, so that the still-active yeast could escape. Only when
the fermentation had slowed to a point where no yeast was emerging from the shive
hole, was the Gose ready to bottle. The barrel was emptied into a tank, from whence
it was filled into the characteristic long-necked bottles. These were not closed with
a cap or cork, but with a plug of yeast which naturally rose up the neck as the secondary
fermentation continued.

How long this conditioning lasted depended upon a number of factors, most importantly
the temperature outside. In the Summer an unlucky landlord could see his whole supply
turn to vinegar. The minimum period for a bottle to mature was around a week. In warm
weather a Gose would be considered undrinkable after about three weeks. The trick
for the landlord was in serving his Gose at just the right degree of maturity. Some
went so far as to have stocks of beer of different ages, so regular customers could
have their beer just as they liked it.

You could consider this method as a sort of combination of the British tradition of
cask-conditioning in the pub cellar and the Belgian tradition of lambic blending and
bottling by pub landlords. The taste of the final product was determined as much by
what happened in the pub as in the brewery.

The History of Gose
Gose has an odd history, having moved home several times in the 250 years
it has been around. It was first brewed in the early 18th century in the
town of Goslar, from which its name derives.
The beer became popular in Leipzig, so popular in fact that the local breweries
started to make it themselves. By the end of the 1800's it was considered
to be the local style of Leipzig and there were countless Gosenschänke
in the city.

A big contribution to the legend of Gose was made by Johann Philipp Ledermann.
In 1824 he started brewing Gose at Rittergut Döllnitz, a country
estate between Merseburg and Halle. He had been a brewer in Goslar,
but was lured by Johann Gottlieb Goedecke, the owner of the estate, to come
and brew for him. Goedecke's own attempts to brew the financially lucrative
Gose in the estate's small brewery had not been a great success. After Ledermann
died in 1852, his wife took over supervision of the brewing process until
her own death in 1883. By this time the brewery had managed to build up
a virtual monopoly in the supply of Gose to Leipzig.

Unlike most of their modern counterparts, the Rittergutsbrauerei Döllnitz
were happy to put a limit on the expansion of their business. For most of the second
half of the 19th century they were producing "around a million bottles"
of Gose a year. I make this an annual output of between 7,500 and 10,000 hl (I'm not
sure how big the bottles were); not exactly mass production. To put this figure in
its historical context, around 1890 the largest Munich breweries were pushing half
a million hl a year, and even the smallest could manage 20,000 hl.

The constant supply, but heavy demand, meant that the brewery effectively rationed
the supply of Gose. It was seen as a great favour if they agreed to deliver to a new
client. Each pub was allowed a specific quantity of Gose, based upon their average
number of customers. This policy was, most likely, at least partly based upon the
nature of the beer. A bit like British cask beer, it was a living product with a limited
shelf-life. Only pubs with a steady stream of drinkers could turn over enough of the
beer to ensure that it was always in good condition. It appears that although the
beer was synonymous with the city, it was never really the everyday drink of the masses.
The majority of pubs never sold it and it was more expensive than other beers.

The Decline of Gose
During the Second World War production of Gose, like all other beer, ceased for a
while. Worse was to come in 1945, when the Rittergutsbrauerei Döllnitz
was confiscated and closed. It appears that, at the time, it was the last remaining
Gose brewery. Only in 1949 did before Gose make a return, brewed in the tiny Friedrich
Wurzler Brauerei at Arthur-Hoffmann-Straße 94 in Leipzig. At this time there
were a mere 18 pubs taking the beer.

Friedrich
Wurzler had worked before the war in the Döllnitzer Rittergutsbrauerei. After
landing in Leipzig during the war, he was able to start his own brewery, mostly based
on the handwritten notebook in his possession, which explained the secret of brewing
Gose. Before his death in the late 1950's, he handed on the secret to his stepson,
Guido Pfnister. Brewing of Gose continued in the small private brewery, though there
appears to have been little demand. By the 1960's there were no more than a couple
of pubs in Leipzig and possibly one in Halle that were still selling it.

Gose struggled along until 1966, when, while working in his garden, Guido Pfnister
had a heart attack and died. The local nationalised group, VEB Sachsenbräu,
had no interest in taking over the small run-down Wurzler brewery and so it was closed.
Another small private brewery, Brauerei Ermisch, considered continuing the production
of Gose and took possession of Pfnister's brewing book. Their enthsiasm didn't last
long and not only was no Gose produced, but the notebook also appeared to have been
accidentally destroyed.

The last Gose was served in Hotel Fröhlich at Wintergartenstraße
14. Here they still carried on the tradition of buying barrels from the brewery and
bottling the beer themselves. The final barrel was delivered on 31 March 1966. When
the last of the bottles had been drunk, the customers had to make do with Berliner
Weiße.The hotel was never to see real Gose again, being closed and then blown
up in 1968.

Gose's Revival
That would have been the end of the story and Gose would have become another lost
curiosity. In a strange parallel with Belgian witbier, the devotion and determination
of one man led to its rebirth. An enthusiastic publican, Lothar Goldhahn, had
decided to restore one of Leipzig's most famous old Gosenschenke, Ohne Bedenken,
to its former glory. He though that it was only fitting that the revived pub should
sell Gose. Goldhahn was determined to resurrect the style and interviewed many old
leipzigers to ascertain its precise taste. More importantly, he was able to track
down a former employee of the Wurzler Brauerei who had at least some of Pfnister's
notes in his possession. The Getränke-kombinat Leipzig developed a "Werkstandard
zur Herstellung von Leipziger Gose" ("work standard for the production of
Leipziger Gose") based upon this recipe.

Goldhahn's
intentions to have his beer brewed locally in Leipzig were soon frustrated.
None of the local breweries had either the technology or the inclination
to brew such an odd top-fermenting beer, so he had to look further afield
for a producer. Eventually, a test batch of Gose was brewed in 1985, at
the Schultheiss Berliner-Weisse-Brauerei in East Berlin. At a tasting held
in Goldhahn's flat, a group of experienced Gose drinkers came to the conclusion
that it was a "real" Gose. The first production batch followed
in 1986 and Leipzig had Gose once more, if only in a single pub.
Since then, Gose has once more been on its travels. In 1988 the Schultheiss Berliner-Weisse-Brauerei
decided that it couldn't be bothered brewing the tiny quantities of Gose any more.
For a while Ohne Bedenken had to resort to serving Berliner Weiße again.

The third postwar Gose-free period ended in 1991, when Goldhahn bought the small Löwenbrauerei
in Dahlen. He now had total control of brewing his own Gose. Sadly, the demand for
Gose proved too limited even to keep a small brewery fully occupied. Goldhahn was
forced to sell it in 1995 and look elsewhere for someone to contract brew for him.
The Andreas Schneider brewery in
Weissenburg (Bavaria) duly obliged.

Gose Today
For the first time since before 1939 there are two breweries currently making a Gose,
both of them in Leipzig itself. It's still easier to find Kölsch in the city,
so Gose hasn't been restored to its former popularity, but the style is more secure
today than it has been for any time in the last 50 years.
In 1999 a new brewpub opened in central Leipzig, which places great emphasis
on the Gose it brews. It's so committed, to the style that it's even part
of its name:Gasthaus
& Gosebrauerei Bayerischer Bahnhof. This now supplies Ohne Bedenken
and a few other pubs in the city. Obviously the Andreas
Schneider brewery got bitten by the Gose bug whilst brewing for
Goldhahn, because it is the owner of the brewpub. Maybe it's just me, but
I find it very amusing for a Bavarian-owned brewery to be brewing a non-Reinheitsgebot
beer.

The good news just keeps coming: another Leipzig brewery, Ernst
Bauer, started brewing a Gose in 2002. The beer is being brewed under contract
for Adolf Goedecke, a descendant of the owners of the Rittergut Döllnitz. According
to a text from 1824, it was in the Rittergut that the only real Gose was brewed. This
beer is also available in Ohne Bedenken and a few other outlets.

For those of you who can read German, here are some more Gose links: Der Gose-Wanderweg von Leipzig
nach Halle.A very interesting guide to walks between Leipzig and Halle. It's underlying
theme is Gose and it lists an impressive number of (mostly) country pubs serving the
beer.

At
the end of the 19th century, when Gose was at the peak of its popularity, there were
dozens of Gosenschenke in Leipzig. Ohne Bedenken belongs to this period, being built
in 1899 in the suburb of Gohlis at a time when Leipzig was expanding rapidly in size.
It was for a decade the only pub in the world selling this legendary beer.

The building was damaged in wartime air-raids, but struggled along until as a pub
until1958. After lying empty for a while, it became a Kulturzentrum for DDR soldiers
in 1960. In 1968 a nearby polyclinic took it over for use by its X-ray department.
When they left in the 1970's, the historic pub again remained unused for many years.

An article, published in the local Leipziger Blätter newspaper in 1983, evoking
memories of Gose and Ohne Bedenken caught the attention of Lothar Goldhahn. He visited
the premises, saw their potential and decided Leipzig deserved to have at least one
remnant of its Gose culture preserved. Somehow persuaded the DDR authorities to let
him restore and re-open Ohne Bedenken in the mid -1980's.

It seemed logical that a Gosenschänke should offer its customers a Gose. This
caused him two big problems: what did Gose taste like and who could brew it for him?
His first Gose, perfected after much research amongst older drinkers, was brewed in
Berlin at the Schultheiss Berliner Weisse brewery.

Obtaining
a supply of Gose has never been an easy matter. Between 1988 and 1991 he had to make
do with Berliner Weisse. From 1991 to 1995 Goldhahn ran his own small brewery, but
the limited demand for Gose made this economically unviable. The pub currently sells
both of the Goses made in Leipzig (and the world, for that matter).

The interior has been restored to something akin to its original state and is stuffed
full with Gose memorabilia in the form of old advertisements and bottles. The style
is similar to that of traditional beerhalls throughout Germany in its comfortable,
uncomplicated design. For those intimidated by the sourness of straight Gose, a selection
of Gose cocktails are available.

The combination of a traditional, cosy atmosphere and friendly, enthusiastic staff,
make it by far the best pub I've found in Leipzig or, for that matter, anywhere in
the old DDR. The only drawback is its inconvenient location, in a northern suburb
about a kilometre and a half away from the city centre. If you don't fancy the walk,
you can take a number 11 tram from the Hauptbahnhof.

Considering
that this was Leipzig's main station until the massive Hauptbahnhof was completed
in 1915, it's oddly difficult to find your way into this pub. It's quite a challenge
picking your way through the wasteland of shrubs that shield it from the Bayrischer
Platz.

Constructed in 1842 and supposedly the oldest terminal building still standing,
it was badly damaged in the war, though continued in use during the DDR
period. Left to rot through lack of funds, it was saved from threatened
demolition by being listed as a monument (Denkmalschutz) in 1975. In 1999
Deutsche Bundesbahn sold the building to allow it to be restored and converted
into a brewpub. The platforms are still used as an S-Bahn station (though
they are in such a state that you could be excused for thinking that they
were disused).

As you would expect from a building that had been a major station, it's
made a pretty decent-sized pub. Running parallel to the platform is a long
thin room, which has the bar counter against one wall and the brewing equipment
at the very end. Around the bar is an area of informal seating, from which
you can appreciate some of the more whimsical design elements. Mounted in
the bar is a DB station clock and the footrail for those seated on the sttols
in front of it has been made from a piece of railway track. Just inside
the main entrance is what appears to be an old guard's van, which houses
a single table. I was impressed by both the subtlety and ingenuity of the
theming, if theming is what you can call it.

There
are further dining areas to the right of the entrance and function rooms
on both the ground and first floors. Outside is a beer garden. One of the
most impressive features is a magnificent staircase, that you only pass
through on the way to the toilets. A bit of a shame to miss it, so be sure
to get enough beer down you to require a trip to the gents.

The beers are all unfiltered. Obviously, the big attraction for the dedicated beer-tourist
(which I assume you probably are) is the house-brewed Gose. It's served in the correct
tall, cylindrical glasses and can be ordered in all sorts of cocktail forms. One at
least - Regenschirm, made with Kümmel (cumin) liqueur - has a long history, stretching
back to the 19th century.

I hate to say this about such a good beer (or for that matter anything negative
about such a laudable enterprise), but I don't think that it is totally
authentic. I've drunk Gose from three other breweries. Their beers were
reasonably similar and, for me, of quite a different type to the Bahnhof's
Gose. Now it's possible that the reason for this is the Reinheitsgebot.
I have the feeling that the others have stuck to it, and so have omitted
the coriander and salt. Perhaps it's just the coriander aroma - so startling
unusual in a German beer - has tricked me into thinking that it's a Belgian
witbier. I would welcome anyone's comments on this subject. E-mail
me here.

The other house beers are all outstanding examples of their styles. The Weißbier
is such a good imitation of Schneider Weisse, that I had to ask the staff to make
certain it is their own beer. Their brewer is evidently a very skilled man.
The standard is as good as I have found in any new German brewpub.

The Gose is available to take away in the traditional long-necked bottles
(a bit like cognac ones). However, a quick consultation with your financial
advisor might be in order first: a 75cl bottle costs a few cents under 10
euros. The label is, as far as I am aware, unique in listing coriander and
salt amongst the ingredients, yet still calling the contents beer. This
is usually a real no-no in Germany, where the Reinheitsgebot
is still god. As it turns out, The Reinheitsgebotdoesn't only allow malt, hops and water as advertised. There are
get-out clauses for top-fermented beers (they can use sugar) and beers deemed
to be "local specialities" (like Gose), which can use what the
hell they like. If you're interested in reading more of me slagging off
the stupid German beer law, then look here Why
the Reinheitsgebot is a load of old bollocks .

Doing the research for these pages can sometimes be a depressing experience.
Poor quality beer, uninterested and incompetent bar staff, cheap crappy décor
- all of these I have to endure on a regular basis. Then there are other moments,
when, just as you weren't expecting it, you stumble across something special. Sinfonie
most definitely belongs to the lattter category of experiences.

Located
on the eastern edge of the city centre, it's a corner pub of a decent size, mostly
done out in a modern, trendy way. I found it rather schizophrenic that there was a
small side room with a completely different character. It had panelled walls, pine
tables and, on closer inspection, an amount of Gose memorabilia scattered around.
I was soon to discover the reason for this odd combination of styles.

I was there at a quiet time of day. I was making notes and drinking an excellent Gose,
when I was approached by a man who politely asked what I was doing. The face of the
landlord, for this is who he was, lit up when I mentioned my interest in Gose. "Do
you want to see my Gosenschänke?" (I must try using this as a chat-up line)
he said and took me into the above-mentioned side room. You can see a photo of it
to the left. While showing me around he described the history of Gose with a good
deal of knowledge, even mentioning the possible connection with Belgian gueuze. He
then proceded to highlight the faults of most of the recent recreations, demonstrating
an outstanding appreciation of the characteristics of the style.

The man's enthusiasm for Gose and the effort he had expended not only to
serve the beer, but also recreate the atmosphere of the pubs that sold it
a century ago, made a deep impression on me. It's only because of the energy
and determination of such people that oddities like Gose continue to exist.
I urge you all to visit his pub and show him some support.

The beer selection, especially in the spread of different styles, is most
unusual for the city. And I can only concur with the landlord - the Döllnitzer
Ritterguts is the best and most authentic Gose. I didn't come across it
often in Leipzig, but it can be found in another pub on Gottschedstraße,
Vodkaria (number 15). A Look
here for a list of other outlets.

I've had reports that this bar is being renovated and is not open for business.

This
brewpub is at once both easy and yet potentially tricky to find. You would
need to be a master of disorientation to be unable to spot the Thomaskirche,
a splendid church that is one of Leipzig's landmarks.

What causes the problem is the address: a tiny deadend street next to the
church has the sign Thomaskirchhof. Don't be fooled, the pub is really on
a square that forms an extension to the Markt. I can't help you out much
with a description of the building, since that is as lacking in distiguishing
features as most modern edifices. My best advice is to look for the fibre
glass lion with a beermug in his hand.

The Brauhaus is wonderfully schizophrenic. Most of it is a rustic Italian restaurant,
where old bits of wooden farming kack are draped around the walls. This forms the
large section to the right of the entrance and there is another bit in this style
behind the bar rambling back towards the kitchen. To your left on entering, is a much
smaller area of high tables and stools. It's sandwiched between the tackily rural
bar counter (oh no, it's got a little tiled roof) and the copper brewing vessels.
They are very strangely located basically in the front window. Maybe they want to
make sure that you can see this really is a brewery.

The use of natural materials - wooden furniture, tile floors - is pleasing,
but the main room is far too bland and food-orientated for my taste. The
"beer corner" - see the photo above - is much more comfortable,
but of limited size (I've managed to get about half of it in the picture).
I did find the staff (and judging from the Italian I heard being spoken
amongst them, a number genuinely are from Italy) friendly and helpful,
which always helps me leave a pub a happy man.

I didn't consider the beers to be anything to get excited about. The Dunkles was by
far the better of the two. Perhaps the Pils was just having an off day. We are talking
about very small-scale brewing here, so some variation is to be anticipated. There
is the great advantage of the very central location - the Rathaus is within 100 metres
- to be taken into consideration. For that reason alone, it would be on any pubcrawl
I planned in the town centre.

Barthels Hof, in a courtyard just off the Markt, has a long
history stretching back to 1497. The current buildings date from 1750 and
it reopened, after extensive renovation, in January 1997. In its current
state, it's a whole complex containing a bar, restaurant and wine cellar.

There's obviously been a few bob spent on the interior which is deceptively
simple, but makes use of top-quality materials. Strangely, there are many
old advertising posters for Belgian beers scattered around the walls counterpointed
by brass musical instruments. Classy, but not sterile, it shows how money
invested in quality fittings is well spent.

The menu includes one meal with a schwarzbier sauce and there are several Saxon wines
available.

The
reunification of Germany gave Paulaner the chance, in 1990, to reacquire their former
Leipzig showcase. Originally built as a bank, it was later a coffeehouse before it
came into the hands of Paulaner in 1920. It was confiscated in 1948 and led a checkered
existence in the DDR period.

Since taking it over, Paulaner have done their best to make it a beerhall
in the Bavarian style - all white walls and scrubbed pine tables. A few
old photos and newspaper cuttings, very sparsely scattered around the acres
of wall space, are about the sum total of the decorations. There are several
rooms, with varying levels of poshness and beeriness. Rather than a single
pub, it's actually a group of bars and restaurants that occupy about half
of the street.

Paulaner are unusual in having a string of pubs throughout the whole of Germany, usually
offering a good range of their products and good-value food. It was disappointing
then, when this establishment first reopened, that the only two draught beers were
Pils and Helles. I am very pleased that they now have a pretty full set of their brews
on sale. In particular, the Dunkles is good to see as it allows the opportunity to
compare this typically Bavarian style of dark lager with Saxon Schwarzbier.

This old wein- and bierkeller was built in the 1880's on the site of
a pub which had been called Zill's since at least 1841. It has, with its horizontal
wood panelling and ceiling vault, the appearance of an upturned boat. It's restaurant
pretensions leave with a slightly false, posh air.

An extensive restoration in 2000 has left an interior that seems to retain few of
its original features. I'll give them a few marks for originality: the quirky collages
of old newspaper cuttings, cigars and beer steins, knock the socks off the cliched
victoriana so popular with British pub despoilers.

Sixtina is a bizarre gothic bar in a building that dates from
1545. The vaulted interior has been decorated like a church, even having
a Da Vince-esque painted ceiling.

If that wasn´t odd enough you can also find what must be one of the rarest
cocktails in the world: Gose mixed with absinthe. It´s hard to imagine anything
stranger or more obscure. Absinthe seems to be their speciality and they
offer a wide selection of it. Sounds good to me, as long as they have Gose
to wash the nasty taste away.

Cellar restaurant/bar located in the Neues Rathaus (New Town
Hall). It´s in a traditional beer hall style with a vaulted ceiling and
panelled walls. There are several rooms, including the Reudnitzer Ratsbierkeller,
Hochzeitszimmer and RatskellerClub. In all, it can accomodate more than
700 guests.